


modern men

by linkster



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: JUST KILL ME, M/M, introductions, investigators who kiss and are sad a lot, they're both real private investigators who don't work together yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 03:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10235351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linkster/pseuds/linkster
Summary: a private investigator, his sweet ride, and his new friend.





	

_in 1972, a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit. these men promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the los angeles underground. today, still wanted by the government they survive as soldiers of fortune. if you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them... maybe you can hire the a-team._

it's 2001, and when charles seaborne heard that he had a rival, he wanted to laugh, but he didn't. magnum p.i. wouldn't laugh in the face of competition. magnum would stroke his mustache and nod, put on the hawaiian shirt and puff his chest out like he wasn't afraid of anything. magnum would get to the bottom of things, all while keeping the situation professional. he knew magnum would never let himself down, and he realized in the past few years that if you wanted something to be done, you gotta magnum it.

but seaborne's not magnum.

he's the guy that sits in his car with an open file, badly hidden in a backwoods neighborhood to maybe finally get that picture of the guy who's been stealing from the front porches. sure, it isn't as fun as catching a car thief, or hell, maybe even a killer. catching a killer would unlock the most gruesome parts of his mind, and maybe then he could take himself a little more seriously.

the car is clean as can be. his bright red '71 el camino that he never thought to name. seaborne has been taking care of her since he graduated high school, and now he spends most of his days investigating, taking shoddy photos, and eating beef jerky with a bottle of yoohoo. there isn't a console between he and his invisible passenger, and there's no backseat, so it makes it the days he wants to take a nap a little more tempting.

every case he had was being sent on a stakeout, and he'd only caught a few perps, but it didn't make him look as bad at the station down on third. he didn't technically work for the police department, but they gave him the shake cases -- the ones that nobody wanted to touch, and behind his back, all the police officers knew they were easy anyway. he never got appointed anything, so mostly, he waited for the private investigating calls to start pouring in. but they never did.

it's hot in the car, but he doesn't take off his jacket. instead, he tightens his tie around his neck and swallows audibly, looking away from the house he's been burning two eye-sized holes in for the past hour and a half. nothing but a dog barking and a girl on her bike, and something tells seaborne that neither of those things are cut out to be criminals even if they tried.

his file is only a page long, which made him feel pathetic. hands go through brown hair and his mustache starts to itch. seaborne tried to convince himself that he could sense when a perp was around by the itch of his mustache, but it was short-lived, not necessary for the public, and definitely not important. he looks back down at his file and turns it over, his eyes begging for something to read, but only finding a vague description that could fit _anyone_.

gangly white male, aged 18 - 25, blonde hair, crew cut, eminem t-shirt on.

it sounded like any kid that he would catch behind 7-11 huffing paint, and he was happy to know that he didn't hang out with kids like that when he was in high school. when he was in high school. as if he hadn't just graduated five years prior. mental note to kick himself for sounding like a real jerk.

as he ran his thumb over the white paper, seaborne smacked his lips quietly, intent to make up this kid's face in his head. a blank. instead of continuing any further, he shut the folder and carelessly tossed it onto the leather passenger seat next to him. he only had an hour left until he was going to call it quits, but he was almost tempted. after all, he'd been offered $200 to catch the porch decor thief.

seaborne knew what simon and simon would want him to do. he'd feel like he had to do it for the duty, like the fate of this neighborhood depended on it. he took this very seriously. it had become part of his routine. wake up, comb hs hair, make his coffee, head to the station, wait for any calls for private matters, and sit in the car. it was less boring as it sounds. in fact, he found stakeouts to be rather thrilling; knowing that he can high tail it out if someone asked any questions, but so far, he hadn't been so lucky.

"man, you can't have enough decorations," seaborne mused under his breath, shaking his head and lifting the binoculars from the back seat up to his eyes. he thought his brain was about to fall asleep - was that a thing? - before he locked eyes with a boy holding onto a comically large vase, holding on to it for dear life as he waddled off the porch of the house seaborne had been watching. and there was his perp.

seaborne wrote as many notes as he could -- no eminem shirt. tupac shakur tank top. probably 19. bandana around wrist. it wasn't as meticulous as he had liked it to be, but it was better than what he had gotten. part of him wanted to leave the neighborhood and go back to the police station, but he had other business to do. cautiously, he pulled out his cell phone and extended the antennae, dialing the phone number he had listed in his file. no answer after a few rings, so he gave up and set it back down. he'd be heading back there later, and a sick part of him wanted this kid to be punished. his job was about making sure people got their business done out of the public eye. this kid couldn't be taken to court over snatching patio furniture, and even if he was, was it worth losing the status of being a private investigator that was actually _private?_

his wrting got quicker as he got a little more excited, until he came to a full stop, letting out a heavy breath. he tapped the pen on his paper to emphasize the ending of his sentence and barely smirked to himself. it felt good to get this done, it felt good to accomplish this. whatever this was. a job? he was getting $200 for this. that'd get him hamburgers for months. so was it worth it? of course it was worth it. was it flattering? hell, no.

he checked his watch after what feels like a few hours from seeing his culprit and leans his head back on the headrest, heaving a sigh that came deep from his chest. seaborne was ready to call it a night, but he realized it would be better to try the family again. he did, and the husband, some dopey sounding guy, told him they should meet where they were having lunch to discuss the evidence he had collected and they would go from there.

seaborne didn't have any standards, so he did it.

it wasn't long before he had closed his meeting with the man and his wife. he shut his briefcase (mostly empty) and shook hands with the two of them, ready to gather whatever else he could. this time would be pressing; last time his client flaked and he never got paid. he quickly found his way to the back parking lot, moving his hand to the pocket of his green jacket to fish for his car keys. instead of hearing keys jingling, he hears footsteps on the wet concrete behind him.

"what kinda case is that?"

seaborne reaches for the gun that isn't on his hip and turned around. his eyes adjusted to the fact that the man standing a few feet away was significantly taller than him, and he blinks. "what do you mean, what kind of case is that?" he's cautious. almost nervous. "patio furniture? why does anybody care about patio furniture?" the man's tone has switched from disbelief to judgmental.

he had to have at least seven or eight inches on seaborne standing at six foot, and his hair was a little blonder in the light of the street lamp. it flickered once. no, twice. seaborne noted that he was wearing the most ridiculous zip-up white jacket, but he couldn't not notice the thick-rimmed glasses that sat on his nose that curved at the point. his facial hair was neatly trimmed to a chinstrap, which normally would look pretty ridiculous if it weren't for the thick eyebrows to go along with the look he sported.

"why do you care if i care about patio furniture?" seaborne challenged.

"there's other stuff out there, man." _this guy's crazy._

"who are you?" the man reaches into his back pocket and slowly pulls out a tiny rectangle that seaborne notices as a business card. he draws it like it might be a weapon. seaborne wanted to think it was endearing, being that cautious, but he mostly thinks it's stupid. he extends his hand to grab the card while reaching into his breast pocket in search of his own, but then he remembers he doesn't even have one. _mental note: kick yourself later. every good investigator has a good business card._

seaborne looks down at the laminated card and squints, tilting the card slightly to catch it in the light. when he finally found his angle, the card read "WHO'S RAKING IN HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS BY PRIVATE INVESTIGATING? JAMES ROACH, PRIVATE PARANORMAL INVESTIGATOR."

he laughs out loud and looked up at this guy like he was a joke, but all he got in response was a cold stare. "james roach? that ain't your real name." seaborne's tone has dropped back down to borderline flat by the end of his sentence.

"just roach."

"you're a paranormal investigator in the middle of north carolina? didn't they have an episode of the x-files like that?"

"yeah. north carolina is in beyond the sea, fresh bones, musings of a cigarette smoking man, field trip and brand x." it's faster than seaborne would expect, but he doesn't think it's very funny.

"you think this is a joke?"

"you're looking for a thief when there are monsters underwater and you think i'm taking it lightly?" seaborne doesn't know what to say, so he squinted his eyes at this roach and raised an eyebrow, generating a more than confused response from him. "what are you following me around for? i don't want to join your syndicate."

"the syndicate is an intricate... what i'm saying is we might be some competition."

"i thought you said you're a paranormal investigator."

"the fine print says that i also do regular cases, including but not limited to general sleuthing or taking pictures of an ex-girlfriend."

"good to know... roach."

"roach and..." roach gestured toward seaborne, giving him expectant eyes.

"seaborne."

"wow."

"wow?"

"seaborne and roach would be cool if we were partners. you know, partners in privatized general investigations that can be found in the phone book."

"we're not."

"no, i know we're not." seaborne took the awkward silence that fell between them to finally grip his keys in his pocket and back toward the car. he bumped against the driver's door, keeping his eyes on roach, who took a few steps toward him. "listen, man, i got a cat to feed."

"okay. fine."

"are you expecting me to call you?"

"no. of course not. but i'm saying if you need somebody to teach you how to be a private investigator, i've seen a lot of remington steele."

"what's your favorite episode?" seaborne smiled at the thought of the show, and roach swore he could see his eyes getting a little lighter.

"santa claus is coming to steele. you?" he reached for his car door and unlocked it swiftly, leaving roach looking impressed, but giving the question thought.

"forged steele." by now, seaborne has the driver's door open and he caught roach giving the inside of the car a look-over, but neither of them said anything. before he went to sit down and buckle his seatbelt, he gingerly extends his hand for roach to shake. "i don't need your help."

the handshake seaborne receives is firm. "i seriously doubt that." suddenly, they've pulled their hands away and seaborne put his hands behind his back almost immediately. roach took a few steps back and seaborne shut the door after sitting down on the bench seat of his car. he didn't roll the window down or speak to the other at all, but he gave him his best mean mug.

_rivals, shmivals._


End file.
